


Facade

by ivegotpurple



Series: Sakura Prompts [2]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Background Relationships, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Family Fluff, Fluff, Lawyer!Madara, Light Angst, Meddling Parents, Nohara Rin/Uchiha Obito - Freeform, One Shot, Pining, Rivalry, Romantic Fluff, Senju Hashirama/Uzumaki Mito - Freeform, Senju Tobirama/Uchiha Kagami - Freeform, Surgeon!Sakura, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-10
Updated: 2018-09-10
Packaged: 2019-07-10 11:28:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15948428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivegotpurple/pseuds/ivegotpurple
Summary: Pretending is hard when the feelings are real.Also posted on FFN under the same username, and my tumblr as @purple-possibilities





	Facade

**Author's Note:**

  * For [raendown](https://archiveofourown.org/users/raendown/gifts).



> HAPPY BELATED RAEDAY!!!
> 
> ~~life is hard~~
> 
> Dedicated to my beloved wife, raendown, who also supplied the prompt for this:
> 
> _“I’m sorry that I got way too into playing house and accidentally kissed you passionately.”_
> 
> Unbeta'd so please forgive any mistakes!
> 
> P.S. I have only a vague idea of how hospitals and lawyers work so forgive me if any of this is wrong. Suspend your disbelief (or like, **politely** let me know and I'll fix it)

It had been two weeks.  Two weeks of Sakura living in the Uchiha main family's summer home, eating meals at his family’s table, and sleeping in Madara’s bed.  Two weeks of cuddling on the couch, holding hands, and sharing fond looks.  Two weeks of acting like fools in love, instead of what they really were.

Coworkers.

No more, and no less.

Sakura was the best ER Surgeon at Konoha General Hospital, the same hospital that kept Madara as their lawyer on retainer. 

Madara hadn’t become a lawyer with dreams of working for a hospital.  Nor had he become a lawyer to head the Uchiha Family Law Firm, or to work as Chief of Police.  It had been his younger brother’s dream to run the former, and his cousin Fugaku had been doing a great job of the latter since Madara was a teen. 

Madara’s dream had been to save the world, one case at a time, along with his equally charitable and much more idiotic childhood friend (for all that he was smart, the man was equally stupid), Senju Hashirama.  As first born sons of the Uchiha and Senju Clan Heads, respectively, he and Hashirama had never had to worry about money.  They knew that wasn’t true for most, knew that the majority of people could not afford to defend themselves in the court of law, and had seen many innocent people be victimised and taken advantage of because they simply couldn’t pay for the proper help.

Madara had always wanted to help people, despite how gruff and stoic he appeared.  While he could admit that he did come across as frightening—something he had learnt to use to his advantage, in and outside the court of law—that didn’t change the quality of his heart.  And his was a bleeding heart if there ever was one.  If one knew Madara well enough, they knew that he could be suckered in to just about anything, as long as it involved helping someone in need.

Which is how he ended up working for the hospital.

Madara and Hashirama had eventually formed their own law firm, true.  It took lots of fighting, between themselves and their families, to work things out.  But Hashirama (and his unending optimism) never let Madara give up, no matter how difficult things were.  Madara had been ready to relinquish his dream at the behest of his younger brother Izuna, who hated the Senju with a passion.  Hashirama, however—even with his own brother, Tobirama, insisting that working with  _any_  Uchiha was a terrible idea—had pushed and pushed until Madara could deny their dream no more.

It wasn’t until five years after their firm had been established and Hashirama’s cousin, Tsunade, became the director of Konoha General Hospital did things start to change.  With the hospital facing legal troubles, Hashirama had spent more and more of his time trying to help his cousin out.  Madara had been left in charge of their other clients.  Though his workload would ostensibly double, Madara was sure he could handle it.  Only there was one problem.

Their clients started disappearing.

Not for any nefarious reasons—‘ _Unfortunately,’_  Madara privately thought, on his bad days—but for something much more irksome.

People didn’t trust Madara; not the way they blindly followed Hashirama.

It wasn’t because Madara was Uchiha while Hashirama was Senju; both clans were equal in their cut-throat reputations, even if half the Uchiha clan ran the police while half the Senju worked in politics.  No, it was for something entirely more idiotic.

Hashirama was  _friendly_.

Madara was…

 _Not_.

Madara was a frightening man.  And an awkward one.  While he might like to think of himself as ‘suave’ and ‘sexy’ and ‘smooth,’ Madara was more likely to be described by others as ‘stiff and ‘sexy’ and ‘surly.’

He was at least mollified that the  _sexy_  was indisputable.  He looked good in a suit.  Any suit.  Especially his birthday suit.

Izuna laughed and laughed and laughed for  _days_  after hearing that one.

But sexiness, apparently, wasn’t enough to keep their clients—especially the ones which were not attracted to men.  Which were a lot of them, unfortunately.  And so, Madara began to help the hospital, while Hashirama went back to managing the firm.

It had irked Madara at first; he was a proud man, and to be faced with the reality that there was someone out there better than him, and for that man to be Hashirama, of all the possible idiots, hurt.  Hashirama had always been more of a people person, had always been charming and charismatic, where Madara had been cunning and manipulative.  But all his angry thoughts at being ‘second rate’ had died the moment he met Tsunade’s apprentice.

Haruno Sakura.

Pink hair, green eyes, svelte, muscular, and smart as a whip, Sakura had enchanted him from the moment he saw her—red in the face and yelling at her subordinates for doing something terribly stupid.  Madara wasn’t even sure what she had been scolding them for, so enamoured was he by the way the veins stood out in her neck, or how her green eyes seemed to glow like burning acid, even as they bulged out of her head.  It was a strange thing to admire about a woman, but Madara was a strange man.

She was sublime.

And then, after seven months of looking like a fool, Madara was a strange man in love.

There was only one problem with that.

Sakura barely knew he existed.

It’s true that they often saw each other at the hospital—mostly because Madara would look at the board to see when she was on shift to time his visits accordingly, and had ‘decided’ that the coffee machine in the break room for ER workers made the best coffee.

The coffee was just as terrible as the sludge everywhere else in the damned hospital, of course.  The ER break room was also on the bottom floor, whereas Madara's office was on the top floor, but he had insisted that the walk was good for him.

No one was brave enough to question otherwise.

Madara and Sakura had even spoken on the occasion.  She had come to him for legal advice more than a few times—sometimes for herself, other times on the behest of a patient.  When he passed her in the halls, so long as she wasn’t wrist deep in a dying patient, they exchanged pleasantries. 

Well, if you considered a gruff “Haruno- _sensei_ ,” accompanied by a nod as pleasant. 

Her responding “Uchiha- _sensei_ ,” often offered with a tired smile, was always the highlight of his day.  When he managed to see her twice a day, it was the highlight of his week.  Three times in a day made his month.  He hadn’t ever been graced with her presence four times in a day, but he was sure the occasion would make his year.

Madara had tried to actually start a conversation with her many times.  However, Madara had never been called ‘suave’ or ‘smooth’ as he so wished he was, or even ‘charming’ and ‘charismatic’ as Hashirama naturally was.  And so most of those conversation attempts became mumbled and jumbled until Madara was making some sort of fool of himself or getting into trouble.

As much as Madara loved every moment of Sakura’s time he managed to steal, he was often grateful to whatever interruption inevitably stole her away and ended his embarrassment.

It was during one of those embarrassing interactions—one year, three months, and seventeen days after Madara had met Sakura—where Sakura had learnt some embarrassing information.

His parents were going to arrange a marriage for him if he didn’t find someone for himself soon.

Madara was thirty-six, and that, to his parents, was far too old to still be unmarried and—even worse—single.  Madara didn’t see what the problem was, or why it was any of their business.  Uchiha Tajima had sired  _five_  sons, two of which were already married and had children.  While Madara  _was_ the oldest, he didn’t see how that mattered.  He would get married in his own time, if he ever desired to. 

But Hashirama had gotten married the year before, and the rivalry between Tajima and Senju Butsuma, Hashirama’s father, was legendary.  Tajima had sired five children because Butsuma had four.  Tajima had two summer homes because Butsuma had one.  Tajima had an Olympic size pool, two hot tubs, and one natural hot spring on his main property because Butsuma had a pool and a hot tub. 

Only one of Butsuma’s other sons were married, meaning he had one daughter-in-law, one son-in-law, and a granddaughter.  Tajima, on the other hand, already had a daughter-in-law, a son-in-law,  _two_  granddaughters, and one grandson.  That wasn’t enough for Tajima, apparently, because  _Madara_ , his  _eldest_  wasn’t married, while Butsuma’s eldest child  _was_.  It somehow made Tajima feel like  _less_.  And of course, because Tajima felt inadequate, Madara had to pay the price.

So when Madara had stormed into the hospital and made a beeline for the elevators, instead of hovering around the ER unit until he caught a glimpse of pink hair, everyone knew something was up.  And since the world hates Madara, apparently, Izuna just had to stop by to pour salt in the wound.

Which was when Izuna found out about Madara’s crush on Sakura.

Now having a crush wasn’t anything to be ashamed of, nor was having an unrequited crush.  But when one’s younger brother was as meddling as Izuna was, that could only mean one thing:

Disaster.

And disaster followed Izuna like a shadow.

Madara still wasn’t sure how it had happened.  He was in his office at the hospital—assigned to him due to all the time he spent working there—on the top floor, and Sakura wasn’t even in the building yet.  She wasn’t supposed to be in until evening, and Izuna had stopped by for lunch.  But as fate would have it, Sakura was having a lunch meeting with Tsunade, who also happened to work on the top floor of the hospital. 

When Madara had gotten tired of listening to his younger brother’s teasing and prodding, finally deciding to forcibly remove Izuna from his office, there—because the gods cursed him—was Sakura.  She looked beautiful, dressed in a checkered, mint and white summer dress, and cork-heeled sandals, waiting at the elevator. And when she turned to see what was causing the ruckus from his direction and smiled over at him, Madara did what he always did when he saw Sakura.

He made a fool of himself.

Madara’s greeting was somehow worded backwards—his audience only made things worse, apparently—with a touch of stuttering, before he decided everything would be better if he just  _shut up_.  That didn’t stop Madara from turning every shade of red known to man, and even a few which were heretofore undiscovered, especially when Izuna decided to speak up.  Izuna, being an absolute troll, had  _of course_  decided to tease Madara, not just for looking like something that had popped out of a Van Gogh painting, but for being such a loser that was not only unable to get a date  _but_  also unable to so much as  _look_  at a woman without becoming a mess.

Then, for once in Madara’s cursed life, Lady Luck had decided to shine down upon him.

And she went by the name Haruno Sakura.

Haruno Sakura, who made interns quiver in terror, but could calm patients’ fear with but a few words.  Haruno Sakura, who was a mere 161 cm tall but could bench-press more than twice her weight, and KO a full grown man with just a punch.  Haruno Sakura, who had so completely charmed a man both stiff and surly the day he first saw her, red-faced and screaming, veins popping out of her neck, eyes glowing with the promise of murder, and everything.

Haruno Sakura, who—upon hearing Izuna’s words—had narrowed jadeite eyes, smiled with sharpened teeth, hooked her arm in Madara’s and proclaimed, “I’m his girlfriend,” for gods and man and Izuna to hear.

Madara was too busy choking on nothing to hear the rest of the conversation, but it somehow ended with Sakura agreeing to meet his parents.   _That_  had somehow turned into a two week family vacation at the larger of their two summer homes (the one Tajima bought after Butsuma purchased a rather large beach house on the coast).

And for reasons unknown, Sakura had gone along with it all.  She had put up with meddling siblings and annoying parents, had played games with his nieces and nephew, had held his hand and smiled beatifically even when Madara could only sputter and stutter and make a complete fool out of himself.  She had fielded every question, about how they had met (at the hospital), about when they had started dating (two months ago), about whether they had discussed marriage and children (yes, but both were busy and were focusing on their careers at the moment), about his favourite foods ( _inarizushi_  and the coffee from the ER break room—she added the last bit with a wink that had Madara about to faint), and on and on and on.  No matter how invasive or how obscure, Sakura had the answer for everything.

As they spent more and more time in each other’s presence—practically every waking and sleeping moment of their days—Madara’s true personality began to shine through.  He stopped trying to be suave and smooth and impressive, and instead showed his true colours.  He was stiff and surly, but also kind and compassionate.  He became more and more relaxed as Sakura showed just how accepting she was of his strangeness. 

When something would startle Madara and he overcompensated with a put upon glare, Sakura only laughed lightly before using her thumbs to smooth out his brows; it never ceased to make him smile and laugh in return.  When Madara could not figure out how to answer his family, she would link her arm in his (if it wasn’t already), lean into his side, and smoothly offer a plausible answer.  When Izuna or his other brothers made to tease him, and Madara would turn red with anger, ready to tussle the way the five of them had when they were boys, Sakura would smile and lean in close, pinching his cheek calling him adorable.  It might have caused him to flush six ways from Sunday, but the soft kiss she would then buss on his pinched cheek to soothe the pain made it more than worth it.  Even if he turned even redder afterwards. 

But he was not completely hopeless, and that showed in the way he loved his family.

When they first met up with his family, Madara bent down almost half his height to let his mother kiss his cheek, before squeezing the life out of his brothers, and then picking up his two nieces and his nephew to swing them around.  It made Sakura smile, her eyes alit with laughter even as she was pushed and pulled from relative to relative who were dying to know more about her.  When Madara’s nieces got into an argument over whose turn it was to play with the stuffed bunny, Madara had gently pulled them apart and offered to play with them instead.  The way Sakura gazed at the three of them softly, with a warmness he had never seen in her eyes, made Madara wish the children had pink hair or green eyes instead.  When he set tired children gently in bed, reading them a bedtime story before placing soft kisses on their foreheads, Sakura stood leaning in the doorway, watching them with an expression Madara could not describe, for all that it made his heart flutter.

Madara hadn’t thought he could be any more in love with the strong woman who had enchanted him at first scolding, but seeing her soft and gentle—the part of herself that only those truly close to her were lucky enough to witness—had him wishing there were rings on their fingers and his child in her belly.

It only took a week for Sakura and Madara to fall into a comfortable routine.  It felt—to Madara, at least—like they had been together for years.  He knew far more about her than he probably should, but her knowledge of him never seemed to run out either. 

As the end of their two week ‘family’ vacation approached, Madara became more and more melancholy.  Sakura was beautiful and strong and caring—everything Madara had dreamed of having for his own—and yet this was all a farce. 

It was true that she smiled at him with soft affection in her eyes, that she sought him out whenever she entered a room alone, that she fit so perfectly under his arm or tucked into his chest.  But she was doing him a favour, a kindness, really, all to stop an annoying younger brother from shaming him.  The words she spoke to his family were pretty, painting a dream Madara had ardently wished was true.  But that was all it was.

A dream.

A farce.

A lie.

Come Monday, when they would go back to working at the hospital, they would be only coworkers once again.  Pleasant in the hallways, where Madara would greet her as “Haruno- _sensei_ ,” instead of “Sakura,” and she would reply was a tired smile and a soft “Uchiha- _sensei_ ,” instead of “Madara- _kun_.”  Madara would try to draw out their interactions, only to end up making a fool of himself.  And Sakura would smile indulgently—too polite to point out his ridiculousness—and either watch him patiently dig his own grave, or be called away to some emergency.  They would share only brief conversations whenever she or a patient had need of legal services, keeping the topics to business, instead of the playful banter they had developed over their time at his family’s summer home.

And worst of all, Madara would go home alone, to a cold apartment and an empty bed, instead of the snug, warm embrace of the woman he never wished to live without.

It didn’t help that Madara’s brothers—Obito in particular, the second youngest, married to a sweet woman named Rin who worked at Konoha Children’s Hospital—kept pushing him and Sakura closer and closer together.  Obito would drop his son, daughter, and niece in Sakura’s lap, then mention how good of a mother she was sure to be—something  _their_  mother always rushed to agree with.  Even Kagami—the middle son, married to Senju Tobirama, of all the damned people (Madara thanked the gods that the Senju bastard was too busy with his own work to come over for more than last three days)—was in on the trouble, speaking of how much joy he found as a father and husband, and how his life was so much richer than he ever thought it could be.

What had to be the hardest to watch was his youngest brother, Shisui, and how he would flirt and charm and impress Sakura in the way Madara wished that he could.  While Madara knew that Shisui would never try to steal or sabotage one of Madara’s relationships, Shisui was naturally charming, and much closer to Sakura in age.  While Madara was ten years her senior, Shisui was only three.  The insecurity—that he was too old for her, that she would fall for Shisui instead, that he himself was not enough—had him desperate to be closer to Sakura, and yet pressed him to flea before he could get hurt.

It was two weeks of sweet torture, which culminated into the surprise of Madara’s life on the last day of their vacation.

It was past midnight, and the house was quiet. 

Madara was lying in bed, Sakura in his arms, watching the moonlight splay across her face instead of sleeping like he should have been—as he had done for the last two days.  He did not want to sleep, did not want this dream to end and to wake up to cold, empty, lonely reality.  And so he stayed up, memorizing the way the moon turned Sakura’s pink hair to lilac, the way her lashes cast shadows on her cheekbones, the softness of her cheek against the bare skin of his neck, the feel of her small hand cradled beneath his own.

And then, for reasons unknown, she awoke, her eyes fluttering drowsily, her voice thick and deep from sleep, asking, “Why’re you still ‘wake?”

It was endearing and lovely, the way she slurred her words, the way she craned her neck, rubbing her nose into the crook of his neck, the way she pressed her strong hand against his chest for leverage, the way she seemed to see only him, care for only him, be focused on only him.

It left him speechless.  It had his heart racing, his breath stolen from his lungs.  She was everything he ever wanted, and yet she was his for only one more night.

Which is why, when her steady hand cupped his cheek, pulling him down from his partial recline to lay nose to nose with her, Madara did not protest.

Which is why, when her nose brushed against his own, Madara could only close his eyes and shudder, enjoying how her warm breath mingled with his own.

Which is why, when he felt her warm lips press against his own, soft and sleepy and clumsy, Madara’s veins seemed to set fire and yet froze him in place.

And then she was snuggling against him once again, mumbling, “Go ta sleep,” as if she hadn’t just tilted the earth off its axis, hadn’t shifted gravity until Madara was floating, hadn’t flipped the universe upside down.

So when Madara finally came back to himself—or rather, some semblance of who he was supposed to be—he didn’t think he could be blamed for cupping her face in his hand and pressing his lips against hers.

This was all a dream, anyways, Madara rationalized.  There was no known universe where Sakura would so softly and caringly press a kiss to his lips.

Madara kissed Sakura gently at first, as if moving to fast would startle her and the dream would shatter.  When she pressed back, raising her arms to bury fingers in his hair and against the nape of his neck, Madara felt like his heart might explode.  The lazy brush of her lips against his had Madara greedily asking for more.  His kisses became firmer, more passionate, almost desperate, and in response, so did hers. 

When Sakura’s hot tongue brushed against his lower lip, Madara did not hesitate to open his mouth, rolling so that she was settled under him.  The new position allowed him to tilt his head  _just so_ , to deepen their kiss into something heavier, to tangle her tongue with his own, to explore her mouth in the way he had fantasized about since he had first saw her.  The feel of her hands—trailing down his back and up his chest, blunt nails scratching against the cotton of his shirt until they met flesh, pushing his top up just enough to feel along the warm muscles beneath— **entranced**  him.

And then, when Sakura flipped them over, so that she was straddling  _him_ , her mouth never breaking their passionate kiss as her hands pressed his shirt higher until it bunched under his armpits, Madara took that as express permission to do a bit of exploring of his own.  One hand slid up her thigh to settle on her waist, thumb peaking under her silk camisole to brush against her hipbone, her matching shorts having fallen lower on her hips.  His other hand released her cheek to slide down her front, down between her pert breasts, to settle on her ribcage, letting the tips of his fingers tease along the bottom of her breasts.

Sakura’s breathless gasp, the whispered “ _Mada-ra!”_  he swallowed with his lips had Madara growing hard, eager to grind his hips against hers.  He forced himself to hold back, not wanting to do something that might shatter the dream and slam him back to cold reality.

So instead Madara leaned up to press against Sakura harder, wanting to feel the planes of her body fit against his own.  He let his arms sneak around her, pressing her torso firmly against his, wishing the thin fabric of her shirt wasn’t stopping him from feeling her hot flesh against his own.  He wondered if she could feel the way his heart was hammering against his chest, too engrossed with wishing to prolong the moment to notice that hers was pumping just as fast.

Sakura shifted, her hand brushing against his nipple, and Madara couldn’t stop the low groan of approval bubbling in his throat.  He felt her smile against his lips, and it incited him.  It made him want to flip her over so that he had a chance to explore her body, to find the sensitive spots that would make her writhe and moan and maybe even beg for his touch.  He imagined himself trailing kissed down her neck, nibbling on her earlobe, leaving hickies and bite-marks down her chest as he fondled and suckled at her breasts.

So lost was Madarra in his fantasy that he didn’t hear the door opening.  He didn’t notice how Sakura’s body tensed on top of him until she was pulling away and he was chasing her lips, desperate for the kiss to continue.

It was only when Sakura made to move—his hands instinctively stilling her hips before she could roll off of him—that Madara noticed they had a guest.

“I had a bad dream,” the squeaky voice of his four year old niece, Kaguya—dressed in a white bunny onesie the same shade as her hair, complete with a hood and fuzzy bunny ears—said as she huddled in the door.

“A—ahem, you—” Madara tried to string a coherent sentence together, but the shock of going from one extreme to the next was too much for his mind to handle.

Sakura, still perched on his stomach—flushed red from her ears down to her chest and even below her camisole—had a better time of it.  “Oh no, that must have been scary.”

Kaguya hugged her stuffed rabbit tighter and nodded her head.

“Kaga—your papa and _touchan_ are in the—they’re next door,” Madara finally got out.

“ _Touchan_ and papa are wrestling… I’m not s’pposed ta bother them when they’re wres’ling…”

The look of horror Madara and Sakura shared at that information was enough to break the ice between them.

“Ah… I see,” Madara settled on, just to have something to say.

Kaguya continued to stand in the door, looking between Madara and Sakura, eyes wide and shoulders tensed.  Then her brow furrowed as an idea suddenly occurred to her.

“ _Jichan,_ you and _bachan_ aren’t wres’ling too, are you?”

“NO!”

“Of course not!”

That successfully brought the tension between them back up.

“Then… can I… stay with you?”

In sync once again, Sakura and Madara turned to look at each other.  He could see the trepidation in Sakura’s eyes.  She surely wanted to talk about the kiss, to tell him that it meant nothing and that it would never happen again.  Having Kaguya snuggled between them would be too domestic, would be more than Sakura bargained for when she tried to save him from humiliation in front of first Izuna and then the rest of his family.  Sakura was only acting, of course, and that kiss—if it were real, if this was not some dream or hallucination—only happened because she was half asleep and didn’t know better.  She could not possibly want him the way he wanted her, not when she was so beautiful and smart and talented and could have anyone she wanted.

Sakura’s gaze softened.  She brought her hand up to Madara’s face and gently smoothed the frown lines he hadn’t noticed were marring his face.  Were his troubled thought so easy to see?  He had one of the best poker faces around—it was what made him such a good lawyer—but she seemed able to read his mind.  She leaned down, slowly, giving him ample time to turn away, before pressing a soft, chaste kiss to his lips.  Then, without waiting to see his reaction, she slid off his lap to sit beside him in bed once again, and turned her attention to Kaguya.

“Of course you can stay with us,  _usamimi_ ,” Sakura said with a soft smile, her hand beckoning Kaguya to come closer.  It didn’t take any further prompting for Kaguya to rush over to the bed, jumping over Madara—who had been closest to the door at his insistence—to settle in between them.  Madara straightened his shirt as he settled back into the bed, curling around Kaguya who had settled on her side to face Sakura.  Sakura pulled up the covers before laying on her side, facing both Kaguya and Madara and successfully cocooning Kaguya from the world.

“Is this better?” Madara asked, not quiet knowing who he was posing the question to.  Kaguya shimmied backwards cutely to snuggle closer to his chest in response.  Sakura followed soon after in order to close the distance between them.  Sakura’s arms ended up pressed against Madara’s chest, while one of his lay under Kaguya and Sakura’s heads, the other curled around both girls to settle against Sakura’s waist.  Kaguya, still cradling her bunny to her chest, nestled herself between the two until she was comfortable.

Then, in the way only a child can, Kaguya promptly fell back asleep.

It left the two adults staring at each other, face to face, and frozen in place.

An awkward, flustered silence fell over them, each red faced and unable to look at each other in the eye.

With the memory of the kiss in the forefront of his mind, and the taste of Sakura still lingering on his lips, Madara could do nothing but think of her—though that wasn’t all that much different from his normal thoughts, especially during the two weeks they had spent together.  He tried not to let hope bubble in his chest—hope that she returned his feelings, hope that there was a future for them, hope that the kiss meant that she was just as crazy about him as he was for her, as impossible as that was—but it was hard not to.  He felt like his heart might just jump out of his chest, it was beating so hard.

Even in the quiet, as Sakura avoided his gaze, as her face turned pink and then red, Madara could not be embarrassed.  His heart was dangling on a string, to be sure, but he was not ashamed of his feelings for Sakura.  But he was afraid—in a way he hadn’t remembered feeling, not since the accident which almost took the lives of his three youngest brothers—afraid that the kiss had somehow ruined what little comradery there was between them.

Sakura could not look at him, but he only had eyes for her.  She was so beautiful, her features cast in the moonlight, the flush lighting up her face even in the darkness, his niece curled into her bosom as if the girl were her own. 

The longing, for a wife, for a family, grew too much.  It was cruel.  Life was cruel.  What god decided to wave this image in front of him, only for it not to be real?

Madara didn’t dare speak.  So long as he was quiet, perhaps things wouldn’t blow up in his face.  Perhaps if he fell asleep, they could both pretend it was a dream, and Madara wouldn’t have to face the reality that what he wanted most he could never have.

Sakura, on the other hand, wasn’t having any of it.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, so low Madara had to strain to hear it.  He wanted to ignore the apology, he wanted to pretend that he was asleep, but he couldn’t do that to her.  If this is what Sakura wanted, if she wanted to push him away, Madara would suffer it.  He would suffer anything so long as Sakura was okay.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Madara answered, just as low.  Neither wanted to wake the girl between them.

“No—I do, it… it shouldn’t have happened,” Sakura confessed, voice quivering, breaking Madara’s heart further.  “I… I was asleep, and you were—it’s just—it felt so real, these last few weeks… and I didn’t—”

“You got caught up in the moment,” Madara interrupted.  He couldn’t stand to see her so unsure, so unlike the strong woman he knew she was, especially when it was his fault.  The last thing he wanted to do was make her feel small.  That crushed him even more than the thought of her not returning his feelings.

Sakura nodded softly.

“I understand.”  Madara sighed, his eyes closing so tightly they scrunched together.  As if he could blink and this never would have happened.  As if he could blink and the turmoil in her gaze would disappear.

When he opened his eyes again, Sakura was still there, brows furrowed as she chewed her lower lip and tried to look anywhere but at him.

“Just…”—Madara braced himself, collected his will and prayed his voice would come out steady—“forget it ever happened.  It didn’t have to mean anything.”

Sakura’s eyes shot to him then, finally, her jadeite irises looking grey and washed out in the darkness.  She seemed washed out in this light, resigned, demure… nothing like the vibrant woman he saw barking orders in the hospital.

 _‘I did that_ ,’ he thought.  ‘ _I ruin all that I touch_.’

Sakura heaved a sigh, her hands balling into fists on his chest.   _‘She must be relived,’_  Madara reasoned, and yet, she was even tenser than before.  He had the strangest feeling that he hurt her, that something he had done was wrong. 

As the silence went on, Madara’s mind ran wild with possibilities.  Did she feel like he forced her?  She had been drowsy with sleep… should he have stopped the kiss?

Gods, did he… did he take advantage?

Sakura would have to stay here, stay in his bed, stay in the bed of the man who assaulted her.  She should punch him, beat him, take her retribution.  He knew she could.  He had seen her subdue men twice her size, had heard the stories of her fighting ability whispered throughout the hospital, knew—from her own mouth—how long she had trained, with whom she had trained…

He shouldn’t have—he didn’t mean—he didn’t want—

“Why were you awake?” Sakura asked again, her soft voice shattering his rumination as the question broke through his spiralling thoughts, the change of topic confusing enough to banish his worries temporarily to the wayside.

Madara’s brow furrowed, trying to remember what she was talking about.  When he didn’t answer, she tried again.

“Before… before I… you couldn’t sleep.  Why?”

The concern in Sakura’s voice warmed Madara’s heart, and then shattered it in the same breath.  He didn’t deserve it, not after what he had done.  He was a heel of the highest calibre, and yet here she was, still kind, still considerate, even to a villain like him.

How could he lie to an angel?  How could he give her anything less than himself, even if it meant she would just throw him away?  How could he do anything but give her the truth?

“There are not enough minutes in the day for me to love you.”

The words fell from Madara’s lips without thought.  Sakura had asked and he would give her anything.  If she asked for his heart on a platter he would serve it to her, even if she would just chew it up and spit it out.  What was the point of going on, if she didn’t know?  He didn’t deserve to sit in her shadow, nor to glance upon even just her reflection, so what would it matter if she destroyed him?

The red flush that had waned came back with a vengeance, staining both their skin equally.  This time, however, Sakura’s eyes shot to Madara’s own, unable to look away, while he tried to avoid her gaze.

“You… you love me?” Sakura’s voice shook, and he could feel her hands trembling against him.  His heart pounded in his chest, as if it wanted to escape from beneath his ribs and nestle beside hers.  He wondered peripherally if she could feel its rapid rhythm, if she could hear the way it thrummed in the silence between them.

It was Madara’s turn to nod.

Sakura’s eyes widened, and she pulled back slightly.  It was the shifting of Kaguya in her arms that kept Sakura from moving further.  Madara knew she was trying to get away.

“How long?” The words seemed forced from her throat, as if she couldn’t gather the air to fully voice them.  It made something inside Madara twist.  He was causing her pain, he knew, but he couldn’t deny her anything.  So he answered.

“It seems like forever...”

Sakura’s fists tightened in his shirt, pulling him towards her, squishing Kaguya tighter in-between them.  Neither Sakura nor Madara noticed that the girl was there anymore.

“Don’t lie to me,” Sakura hissed with narrowed eyes.  Madara could not help but think she looked beautiful like that, all harsh lines and righteous indignation.

“I would never lie to you, Sakura.”  Madara lifted his hand from Sakura’s waist, careful not to touch anywhere inappropriate, and tucked her hair behind her ear before cupping her cheek.  The feel of her skin under his palm burned—Madara could not tell if the sensation was pleasure or agony.  “You are stunning, brave, strong, gorgeous… who wouldn’t love you?  Who wouldn’t want to exist even on the edges of your orbit, who wouldn’t beg for just a glance, just a taste of your attention?”

“You… what?”  Sakura’s eyes were so wide he could see the whites all the way around her irises.

“Sakura, you are everything I have ever wanted, and more.  How can you not see my devotion for you?”

Sakura gulped, overwhelmed by Madara’s praise, by his admission.  He knew how this would pan out.  She would let him down gently—she was kind for all that she was brash—and he would leave to sleep on the couch.  He would tell his family that they had a fight, that they had irreconcilable differences, that Sakura was going to focus on her work.  Madara… Madara would leave the hospital, move somewhere far away, where he would never bother her, where she would never have to remember this bumbling moment when one of her devoted followers thought himself important enough to take up her time.  He would leave and then—

And then he felt soft lips covering his own, a tentative pressure, so light it was heartbreaking.

Was this goodbye?

Sakura pulled back all too soon, her eyes seeming to examine Madara’s features, looking for something.  When she didn’t find it, she pressed her lips against his again, harder this time, one of her hands moving up to bury in his wild hair.

Madara lay, stunned, and unable to move.  What was going on?

Sakura pulled back again, half-lidded eyes still darting, still examining Madara’s expression, trying to read his dark eyes.  The hand in his hair tightened, pulling at the strands in a way she could not know he found absolutely delicious.  Her gaze hardened with determination, and yet she seemed strangely exasperated at the same time.  The corner of her lips twitched into a half-smile even as she glared at him.

“I’m trying to say I love you too, idiot!” she huffed, before crashing their lips together.

Madara’s heart soared, even as Sakura’s lips distracted him.  He wanted to taste her, he wanted to devour her, to be devoured.  When her hand pulled at his hair again, just as she bit at his lip, Madara almost snarled.  He opened his mouth, inviting her tongue to come out and play with his, savoring the taste of her, relishing the feel of her, memorizing every brush of tongue and teeth and lips.  He wanted to live in this moment forever, to feel this elation, this completion, this feeling of  _home_  and  _bliss_  and  _mine_  for all eternity.  He wanted to roll her over, press her on her back—or maybe have her straddle him, pressing him deeper into the mattress until their bodies merged and—

“’ssss good,” Kaguya spoke up, voice heavy with sleep.  At the sound of her voice, Madara and Sakura practically jumped away from each other.  “I like _bachan_.”

Chest still heaving and as pink as her hair, Sakura couldn’t help but smile, chagrinned.  Madara knew his own expression must mirror hers.

“Tomorrow,” Sakura whispered, settling back into the bed, Kaguya cradled in her arms.  The look in her eyes was all fire, and had Madara swallowing.

Not one to be outdone, Madara also lay back down, pulling Sakura and Kaguya closer to his chest.  He leaned forward until his forehead settled against Sakura’s own.  His eyes shone with the promise of all the many dreams he had ever had about her.

When Sakura gulped, Madara didn’t even try to hide his smirk.

It was worth the sharp pinch to his side.

“Tomorrow,” Madara agreed, before pressing a soft kiss on Sakura’s lips.  Sakura smiled at him softly, before closing her eyes.

Madara didn’t bother to close his own.

Who needed to dream when reality was so much sweeter?

 

**Author's Note:**

> In Japan, doctors and lawyers (and other people who have acquired a skill through years of study) are given the honourific “sensei.”   
> _usamimi_ = bunny ears
> 
> If I had more time, I would make this into a super long slow burn filled with pining and Madara making a fool out of himself (and Sakura being a dork too, let's be honest). But I don't. So you get that super long summary of what the fic would be about before the scene with all the kissing lol.
> 
> I hope you liked it raebae! Happy one week and one day late RaeDay babe!!!!


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